


Your Other Pillock Boyfriend

by snapslikethis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapslikethis/pseuds/snapslikethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mum thinks I’m a pillock, and Dad reckons I’ve been hit with too many Bludgers. They’re not wrong, but I need to explain why we weren’t at the house after you returned from taking Mary and Breda home." James writes to Lily to explain a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Other Pillock Boyfriend

~~Morning~~   Afternoon Evans,

Mum thinks I’m a pillock, and Dad reckons I’ve been hit with too many Bludgers. They’re not wrong, but I need to explain why we weren’t at the house after you returned from taking Mary and Breda home.

If you recall, before you left, we were dangerously low on the Drink-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named-But-Starts-With-F-And-Rhymes-With-Episkey. 

(Never fear that your boyfriend’s lost his wit. Marauder’s honor, I’ll fabricate a better name when my brain function returns.)

Anyway, you, fantastic girlfriend extraordinaire, promised to return with reinforcements. Great. Fantastic. Except the Traitor Git (Pettigrew) drank the last bit before we could do another Refilling Charm.

(You’re laughing, so I’ll say it: I’m not convinced we could’ve pulled off a Refilling Charm, either. But we’ll never know, will we, ’cause Peter drank away our only opportunity to attempt it.)

We were pretty sure you’d be back (I, personally, never doubted you), but Remus, despite extreme inebriation, convinced us that his watch, and therefore Time, was moving backwards.

Wormtail was weeping over his disgrace. And possibly the end of the alcohol. Probably both.

Padfoot was getting rather tetchy at the three of us.

(You were here. You  _know_ how many bottles we’d consumed.)

In short, we needed more booze.

The house elves refused to break into the cellar. Sirius couldn’t Apparate drunk. (Which is a great story for another time; remind me to tell you about the badgers.) The four of us couldn’t fit on The Bike, so we sat there, despondent, occasionally hiccupping or sniffling, depending.

And then Moony had the brilliant idea to Transfigure my Head Boy badge into a Portkey.

(If you’ve laughed yourself silly imagining us performing a simple Refilling Charm, you are positively gleeful wondering how badly we botched a Portkey of questionable legality. Azkaban? Manchester? Hedge your bets.)

Not bad, actually. We think he was aiming for the Three Broomsticks. Ended up in the woods outside Hogsmeade.

Fine, right?

Except we heard the Acromantulas—giant spider things I told you about—even though we were miles away from their nest.

Peter thoroughly redeemed himself by Summoning the old brooms from the school broom shed. (Huzzah!) Even summoned spares, thankfully, as two were smashed to bits by the time they got to us.

After we all figured out how to correctly mount them—Moony climbed on his backwards—we made it to Hogsmeade without dying.

I won’t say without incident, ’cause Moony ran into at least two trees that I can remember. Was hilarious. (Still is.)

Broomsticks was closed, so we made our way the Hog’s Head. (Frankly, Evans, how we  _found_ the Hog’s Head is an adventure in its own right.) Stumbled in to find our illustrious Headmaster having a drink with a dozen of his closest mates. Bizarre, at quarter to two on any other Tuesday morning but this. Loads of people there—Prewett twins, Doge, Mad-Eye Moody and, unfortunately for us, McGonagall.

Her nostrils were flaring extra wide, so great was her desire to tell us off. We discerned, even in our piss drunk states, that it being Christmas Hols and us being of age wasn’t going to deter her.

Remus reckons trying to use the Floo is where things truly went to shit.

It gets a little fuzzy here, Evans, but I (this is gross, and Remus says I should it, but our love is strong, and I have faith that you can handle it. Plus this is revenge for telling me about that One Thing.) sicked up when spinning through the fireplace.

Did  _not_ end up at the Leaky Cauldron, as intended. Found myself in the bedroom of a very armed, very formidable woman in a purple night dress. She had a bird. Possibly a vulture.

I Apparated the fuck out of there before I lost my life—or worse, my bits—to the wrong end of her wand.

(Before you call your boyfriend a coward, consider the following: I could have died. Pissed as I was, no way I couldhave defended myself in a duel. You’d be despondent if we didn’t have my prick.)

This is where my memory ends, but Moony and I have found several clues:

Remus found a stub from the Knight Bus in my back pocket.

I found a matchbook from the Cokeworth pub by your house. Dunno if I ran into your Dad’s friends, or what I might’ve said or done, but heads up.

My right shoe is missing, my left smells like dragon dung, and my trousers are thoroughly scorched. Highly unlikely I would’ve survived a dragon attack, so that will remain a mystery. (If I did meet and escape a dragon, but am too drunk to remember it, I’ll never forgive myself.)

Was woken by a Muggle law man this morning. No idea what he was saying. (You’d think I would, wouldn’t you, with Sirius cursing at me in French for the last seven years?) He was angry that I was sleeping on a public bench.

Minor detail, but the bench was in Paris under the giantmonument of Gifford Ollerton. Y’know, the one camouflaged as that tower you told me the Parisian Muggles think  _they_ made.

All I can say is, thank bloody hell I:

  1. Still had most of my clothes. Especially my wand.
  2. Always carry a Hangover Potion in my pocket.
  3. Perfected my non-verbal Memory Charms last year.



Took me four Apparitions to make it home, but finally arrived to an irate Mum and Dad. They properly scolded me. Didn’t bother telling them about Paris.

Found Moony half-dressed, sleeping peacefully in my bath. Refused to give him my spare Hangover Potion on account that he didn’t intuit where I’d Flooed to and come to my rescue.

Padfoot isn’t here. He won’t answer my mirrors, either, but I can hear his snoring. Am relatively certain he’s not dead.

Hope Wormtail’s with him.

Anyway, sorry we weren’t here when you got back. Let me know you’re okay, and you didn’t end up in Paris or, Merlin forbid, end up snogging your  _other_ pillock boyfriend.

Am knackered. Going to sleep now.

Cheers,

-J

P.S. Have enclosed my spare bottle of Hangover Potion for you, should you need it.  _That’s_  love. (I think you will, you were fairly pissed last night.)

P.P.S. Come by later, if you want.

P.P.P.S. Please give me at least four hours to sleep this off, and another two to find my idiot mates.

P.P.P.P.S. I know what you said about abusing my PS privilege. Fuck it. Happy New Year.

 


End file.
